


Shall I Tell You About Angels

by kisahawklin



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_santa, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Snow and Ice, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team! On Hoth! Cuddling for warmth! Contains some fairly graphic injury/field medicine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shall I Tell You About Angels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ozsaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsaur/gifts).



> For ozsaur, who wanted Rodney&Teyla and Team – hope this hits the spot! (In my head it’s also sort of pre-pre-pre-John/Rodney but it would need another six episodes before it even got to the awkward semi-realization.) Thanks to meghanc and soleta, my lovely betas, for corrections and title! (A quote from Going Postal.)

*

Teyla grins. John and Rodney’s constant bickering always calms her nerves before going to unfamiliar places. She’s a trader, a diplomat. She goes where the people are. Going to all these old abandoned buildings is unnatural, and it always makes her uneasy – especially when the buildings are Ancient. 

She notices Ronon rolling his eyes a little harder than usual and occasionally adding in a verbal jab of his own, not with the smile he usually has in his voice but with annoyance and irritation. Rodney must be able to hear it too, because his arguments get softer in both volume and merit.

It’d been John who taught her how to deal with Rodney’s odd behavior. She’d watched them for months, mentally noting John’s reactions to Rodney’s various forms of chatter. At first she couldn’t tell whether John would tease, be dismissive, or ignore Rodney. Only when Rodney was unusually quiet did John’s manner reflect concern. It became easier to filter Rodney through John’s reactions until she could read him, too.

Ronon had picked up on it a little more slowly than Teyla, though she thought that might have been because of his wariness in the beginning – his belief that he would not be staying long enough to let it bother him. When he’d finally worked out he’d be staying, he paid more attention and it got easier. Teyla'd only had to step in when Ronon was out of sorts, like now.

John breaks up the awkward silence by banking the jumper hard and showing the half-buried city in the viewscreen. The central spire is right in front of them, the top fifteen or twenty floors above the carpet of lush, white snow. The slender tops of a few of the outlying spires reach out of the snow as well, and Teyla shivers involuntarily. It’s uncomfortable to see the Ancient cities like this, buried and silent.

Rodney makes a grunting noise at the abrupt turn of the jumper and takes a breath, no doubt ready to start complaining. Before he can even get two words out, though, the jumper jolts as John sets it down hard on the snow. 

"Whoops," he says, turning to Rodney and grinning. "Thought it would be more like powder."

Rodney grumbles, but he’s been effectively distracted and they’re staring at the central spire, huge in the viewscreen. "Okay," John says, looking over his shoulder at her and Ronon, "roshambo to see who gets stuck with McKay."

"Oh, nice," Rodney says, the sarcasm in his voice hiding most, but not all, of the hurt. "Shouldn’t we all go together?"

"Too much ground to cover," John says. "You can hit the central spire for any immediately applicable tech and I’ll see if there are any drones or extra jumpers. Three hours max, and we meet back here."

Rodney frowns but keeps quiet while Ronon and Teyla smack their fists rhythmically into their hands. Ronon lets out a howl of laughter as he snips her hand with his two fingers in imitation of the scissors that cuts through her paper.

"No takebacks," he says when she punches him on the arm.

"Wrong game, buddy," John says. He gives her the tiniest nod of his head that hopefully means he’s caught her look. If anyone can coax Ronon out of a foul mood, it’s John. 

"Rodney and I will enter the tower from the windows right above the snow," she says, zipping up her Atlantis-command-issued white parka on and pulling the sling for her P90 over the top. She’d purchased a microfiber undershirt and thermal underwear to wear on the cold planets while they’d been stuck on Earth for all those months, and she’s eager to test them out in the snow and cold. 

Rodney looks ready to complain, but his tablet beeps and a new screen pops up. "Yeah," he says, hurriedly shoving his arms into the sleeves of his puffy parka and pulling the straps of his backpack on. "Let’s go!"

*

The snow is deceiving. Teyla had been certain they would reach the central spire in just moments, but after ten minutes of slogging through the knee-deep snow, they're only halfway there. It’s close, she can make out the colorful patterns on the windows, but walking through the snow has been more time-consuming than she expected.

"We should have brought snowshoes," Rodney says, tying the scarf that was hanging open around his neck. "At least it’s not snowing."

She huffs out a breath in agreement, watching the burst of white dissipate into the cold air. "John should have told us it was this deep, should he not?"

Rodney shrugs. "It’s hard to tell what snow’s going to be like until you’re in it. He probably thought it’d be solid enough to walk on." His computer beeps again and he picks up the pace. "Almost there," he says encouragingly, and she wonders if there is a ZPM in the vicinity – very little can make Rodney quite so optimistic.

The snow seems to get shallower as they near the spire, and it becomes easier to walk. Teyla moves ahead so she can keep an eye on things while Rodney is distracted, tapping on his computer with his gloved hands and complaining at their clumsiness. She’s about to tease him about it when she hears the sound, an ominous crunching noise.

"Rodney, stop!" she yells, crouching as she pulls her P90 into proper position. She listens closely but the sound has stopped, so she creeps forward, one careful step at a time. The crunching starts again and almost immediately becomes a loud creaking noise. 

"Teyla!" 

She stops, glancing back over her shoulder to see Rodney with his arm stretched out toward her. "Stop – come back this way. Slowly."

There’s fear in Rodney’s eyes but before she can reassure him, the world shifts and she drops, the ground falling away beneath her. Rodney leaps toward her and she reaches for him desperately. He gets his hand around her forearm and her fall is jerked short with sudden wrench in her shoulder. 

Rodney is hanging half over a ledge of snow, gripping her forearm tightly, and her heart lurches in her chest. He looks like he’s in pain, but he’s also clearly determined, already pulling her slowly back over the edge. "Hang on," he wheezes, and she breathes out her okay, staying as still as she can. 

She chances a look down and sees a wide, dark cavern, with at least fifteen feet of air beneath her dangling feet, and the same distance under the thin outcropping of snow that Rodney’s currently lying on. 

"Let me go," she says, as Rodney grunts under the effort of pulling her up. She can see a crack forming on the underside of the snow supporting him. "Rodney! Let go! You’re going to fall!"

"No," Rodney gasps, "I won’t let you go!" 

He yanks roughly on her arm, like he’s going to trying to pull her up all at once, and it’s too much for the ledge he’s on; it collapses. It happens in slow motion – she feels her body twist around as she falls and she tries to find a way to land that won’t break anything. Unfortunately Rodney still has her arm and his body lands on top of hers. She can feel her arm crack under the weight, and she lets out an involuntary scream of pain. Rodney rolls off of her and onto his feet in an instant.

"Teyla!" he cries, crouching next to her. "What is it?" 

She pulls her arm in to her chest, trying to find a way to rest it that doesn’t make it radiate waves of pain. "Broken," she says, and the difficulty she’s having breathing may mean broken ribs as well. 

Rodney looks crestfallen. 

"You’ll have to set my arm," she says, holding Rodney’s eyes to keep him calm. She can tell the way her hand is facing the wrong direction that the bones of her forearm will need to be shifted back into the correct position. Before she goes any further, though, she raises her good arm and awkwardly gets her right hand to her left ear only to come away with a broken earpiece. "Can you call Colonel Sheppard?" she asks, desperately hoping that Rodney didn’t lose or break his as well.

Rodney clicks his radio on. "Sheppard." He pauses. "Sheppard, McKay here, do you read? Ronon? Anybody hearing me?" He shakes his head. "I don’t think it’s broken," he says, "so interference, maybe? I can probably use the tablet to boost the signal…" 

Teyla knows before he does – he dropped it when he dove to catch her. "Later," she says firmly. "You have to set my arm first." At Rodney’s pained look, she adds, "It’s only three hours. They’ll come for us when we’re not at the rendezvous."

"Great," Rodney says. "And they’ll both fall in too and then we have to wait for Atlantis to send another jumper."

Teyla closes her eyes and takes several deep breaths to help with the pain – and with Rodney’s habitual pessimism. "We will hear them coming, and we can warn them," she says firmly. Before Rodney can say anything else, she asks, "Do you have shears?"

Rodney gives her a blank look for a second and then shakes himself out of it. "Yes," he says, working his arms out of his backpack and pulling the shears out of them while she puts the safety on her P90 and is silently thankful it didn’t go off when they landed. 

"Cut my sling off," she instructs. It’s soothing to give Rodney orders. He needs the direction and she needs the distraction, and it seems to be working for both of them. He makes quick work of her gun sling and gently sets the P90 aside. She nods toward her sleeve. "You’ll have to cut my arm out of it," she says. She mourns the loss of her new warm clothes. They’ve been performing admirably, and it’s unlikely she’ll go back to Earth for a shopping trip anytime soon.

She grimaces as Rodney hacks away at the sleeve of her jacket, jostling her arm to the point that she grays out a little from the pain. She comes back in time for Rodney to put pressure on her upper arm – something that stays the pain some.

"Just a little stick," he says, and she glances down just in time to see him jab her deltoid with a needle. He pushes the plunger and she can feel the liquid flow under her skin, making it tight and uncomfortable. "That’ll take a while to work."

"Thank you." She looks down at the ruins of her sleeves – jacket and thermal underwear and microfiber shirt in three layers like a cloth sandwich. They’re separated from the shoulders of her tops but still connected at the wrist – and that part is going to be the worst, except for the setting of the bone itself. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply. "Cut the rest of the sleeves, Rodney."

Rodney starts cutting, surprisingly gentle for all the repositioning of her arm he has to do, and he removes the sleeves without another near-faint. She looks down at her arm, the odd way there’s a forty-five degree angle in her forearm, and takes another deep breath.

"You remember how to set a bone?" She knows he does; they’d all taken the EMT course when Biro offered it, and Rodney passed with flying colors. He’s never had to do more than wipe a few cuts or wrap some bruised ribs before today, though.

"Has the morphine kicked in?" he asks. 

She knows the pain isn’t as bad as it was, but it’s still front and center, and she’s not feeling any kind of sleepiness or relaxation. "Some. It’s fine," she says, pulling her upper arm tight to her side and holding it there with her good right hand. "Let's get it done."

"Okay," Rodney says, "On the count of three."

She steels herself and she squeezes her eyes shut, holding on to her upper arm with all the strength in her body.

"One, two, three." The jerk of her arm comes on what is really four; it’s an age-old argument between John and Rodney, whether you move on three or whether you count to three and then move. She can’t help a smile and then the pain flares so suddenly it makes her nauseous. She turns her head and leans sideways before she throws up; she manages to miss most of her clothing and the liquidy mess steams in the snow.

"Sorry," she mumbles, wiping her mouth with her only remaining sleeve. There’s a slow-banked fire in her arm now, and the morphine must be kicking in because she suddenly feels like she could curl up and nap right here in the snow bank.

"Don’t fall asleep yet," Rodney mutters, stripping the sling off her gun and using it to immobilize her arm and hang it around her neck. He carves out a comfortable-looking seat in the snow and arranges a shiny silver Mylar blanket on top of it. He sits down and wiggles a little, wincing when he brushes his shoulder against the wall of the cavern. 

"Are you hurt?" She hadn’t even thought to ask – Rodney is usually extremely vocal about his injuries. _Unless they’re serious_ , her inner John tells her. "Rodney?"

"I’m fine," he says, spreading his legs and reaching for her. "Come on, get in here and let’s bundle up. No hypothermia before our Prince Charmings can save the day." She lets him settle his hands on her waist and uses her legs to help as best she can. It’s awkward and her arm gets jolted a couple of times, but the morphine has really kicked in. The pain is almost separate from her body, something she can observe or ignore, as she chooses.

She lets Rodney tuck her in between his legs and it isn’t until he’s huffing and puffing as he tries to get his arm out of his jacket that she knows he must have been hurt, and pretty badly. She offers her one good hand and between them they extract his arm from his marshmallowy jacket. 

"Did you dislocate it?" 

"Yeah." He wraps the parka around them both, covering her bare arm with the soft jacket and wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her in against his chest. "I think it popped back in when I landed on you, though."

"Rodney!" She can’t reprimand him properly this way; he’s got her completely wrapped up, she can barely move – not even enough to turn her head and give him a stern talking-to.

"I’m fine," he says. "Let’s just stay warm and wait for Sheppard and Ronon to come rescue us." He squeezes her waist as if to emphasize his point, and she hmphs and rests her head back against his chest. 

She feels like she could fall asleep, and since it’s likely there’s at least two hours before John and Ronon come looking for them, she decides to sing to keep herself awake. She sings every song she can remember, Rodney’s voice soft but his chest rumbling under her on the choruses. 

*

She wakes to the sound of hoarse cry and a thud. Rodney had apparently been sleeping too, because he starts awake and squeezes her stomach hard enough to make her wheeze. She looks over at the newly fallen heap of snow, Ronon’s dreadlocks sticking out of the top of it.

"Sheppard! Stop!" Rodney yells, right in her ear. "Back up!"

_"Rodney? Is Teyla in there with you?"_

"Yes! Now back up before –" 

A second mini-avalanche comes down right on top of Ronon’s head, followed immediately by John. Ronon half-rolls out of the way, but not fast enough to escape John landing on top of him.

"Oh, great," Rodney snipes, pulling his arms and chest away from her. She shivers with the cold almost immediately. "Hang on," Rodney says, and she sits forward so Rodney can scramble out from around her. He pulls his parka off and puts it on her shoulders, pulling it closed and zipping her inside it with her arms trapped against her body.

"Hey, Ronon," Rodney says, snapping his fingers at Ronon as he stumbles that direction. "Are you tracking?"

She’s glad to see Ronon’s mood seems to have lightened, and the amusement at Rodney’s mother-hen act is written on his face. He catches Rodney’s fingers as soon as he’s within reach and raises an eyebrow. "I’m fine." 

"What about you?" Rodney asks, snapping his fingers in John’s direction now. Teyla stifles a laugh. "Hit your head? Break anything?"

"I’m fine, Rodney," John says, batting Rodney’s hands away and looking around Rodney at her. "Teyla?"

"Broken arm," she answers, adding quickly, "Rodney’s set it already. And he’s dislocated his shoulder."

"I can fix that," Ronon says, grinning, and she can’t see Rodney's face, but she’s pretty sure there was extreme eye-rolling in Ronon’s direction.

"Twenty foot drop took care of it," Rodney says, kneeling next to John. Teyla watches intently as he does a quick trauma assessment. "And how long is it before Atlantis comes to get us?"

"We’re pretty close to check-in," John says, submitting to Rodney’s examination with a resigned air. "So maybe half an hour leeway because it’s us, and another half hour to scramble a team, and then the two hour jumper ride to the planet from the gate."

Rodney groans. "Three more hours? My ass is already completely numb. The last thing I want to do is to get frostbite on my ass." Teyla stifles another laugh; apparently morphine makes her want to laugh inappropriately.

"I think your ass will be fine," John answers, pulling off his backpack and rummaging through it. Rodney fusses over Ronon now, performing the same trauma assessment on a much less willing patient. "I’ve got another Mylar blanket and a waterproof fleece blanket."

Even with Rodney’s parka, the cold is starting to seep into her bones. She can feel herself shiver, and her teeth start to chatter uncontrollably. John comes over to her in alarm. "You okay?" he asks, and she gives him the best smile she can manage.

"Rodney was quite warm – the coat alone is not the same." John smirks at her and she rolls her eyes at him. "Not to mention, if I'm cold, then Rodney is probably freezing without a jacket on." John’s eyes immediately lock on Rodney, and she follows his gaze, watching Rodney hassle Ronon. 

"You might have a concussion," Rodney concludes as he flashes a light into Ronon’s eyes. "Do you feel nauseated?"

"Nope," Ronon says. "Don’t think I hit my head, either." Teyla's not sure she agrees with that – John landed right on top of him.

"Your pupils are sluggish," Rodney says. "Stay close so I can keep an eye on you." 

"We’re all staying close," John says, helping Teyla to raise herself off the ground enough to get the two extra blankets under her. "Let’s get warm."

They arrange themselves in pairs, her and Rodney like they were before, Rodney’s hands around her waist and his parka around them both. John and Ronon argue about who sits behind who until Rodney says, "Oh stop it, Colonel. Ronon’s bigger and I need to keep an eye on his pupils. Suck up your macho stereotypes and sit down."

"Why don’t _you_ sit between his legs, then," John asks, and Teyla raises an eyebrow at him.

"I would," Rodney says, "but we all know you’re a lizard and you and Teyla would freeze to death. You can sit between my legs, if it’s less emasculating."

"I don’t care about that," John argues, his frustration with Rodney evident. Teyla can’t quite place what his discomfort is – it isn’t like him to be bothered by this sort of thing.

"Oh wait," Rodney says. "That’s actually a good idea anyway – Ronon can probably get his coat around him and Teyla completely. Here, Ronon, trade places with me." The two of them shuffle around and Rodney takes his parka from around her shoulders just before Ronon envelops her in his long fur-lined leather duster. It’s already warm from his body heat and she snuggles against him, drowsiness setting in almost immediately. John and Rodney are both standing now, Rodney looking defiant and John looking annoyed. She chuckles under her breath and feels Ronon’s chest move in a distinctly laugh-like manner.

"Why don’t we just keep moving, that’ll keep up warm."

"Seriously, what is wrong with you, Sheppard?" Rodney sits down next to her on the blanket, careful not to jiggle her arm. "You can sit behind me if it’s that big a deal – you just need to share some body heat because I am not going back to Atlantis with a Sheppard-sicle."

"Fine," John says, stomping around the three of them like Torren having a tantrum, "I will." She can’t keep herself from laughing – it is beyond her control. John settles in behind Rodney, squeezing one leg in the tight space between her and Rodney’s legs. 

Rodney takes his jacket off and puts it on backwards. John doesn’t seem to have a problem with Rodney leaning on him, because he unzips his own jacket and lets Rodney settle in before pulling their combined coats tight around them both. "Is that so bad?" Rodney asks, his voice softer than she can ever remember, less sharp, more gentle. 

She hears John sigh and is glad for the way they’re sitting. She can feel them all, Ronon’s chest and John’s leg and Rodney’s boot where it’s touched to the tip of hers, but she can’t really see them. 

"I don’t like not being able to see you, McKay," John says. "I’ve…" 

She holds her breath – waiting John out is the only option here, and he is so easily spooked. 

"I’ve been in this situation before," he says haltingly. "Let’s just say… it didn’t work out for the guy who loaning me his body heat."

She hears Rodney take a breath, and before she can come up with a way to interrupt him, Ronon speaks.

"There is a story," Ronon says, "of a man and his angels." 

She knows the word in Satedan – _threilsa_ – and angels is not the word she would have picked. Guardians, maybe, or protectors. 

"This man was rescued when he was a little boy. He was swimming and got caught out too far, and a woman came from under the sea and held him up with her body until he was found. He was saved from a Wraith culling when he was a young man, by an old man who pushed him out of the way of the beam."

Teyla knows this story, though the rescues in the version her mother told her are slightly different. She listens to Ronon’s deep voice rumble in his chest and the sympathetic noises that Rodney probably doesn’t even know he’s making.

"And when his house burns and he runs back in to save his daughter, lowering her to the safety of her mother’s arms before succumbing to the fire himself."

There’s a beat where she can actually feel John and Rodney’s confusion, and then Rodney says, "What? Are you serious?"

"The point is," Ronon says, clearly not bothered by Rodney’s disbelief, "that everyone is someone’s angel."

"Oh, w-well…" Rodney stutters. "I’m just not sure why the angels have to die. Is that the moral of the story?"

Ronon sighs. 

"Thanks," John says, and she can feel Ronon nod in response.

"It also means," Teyla says, stifling a yawn, "that everyone has many angels – and we all play our part in watching out for our fellow beings."

"I still don’t get why –" Rodney makes an ‘oof’ sound and apparently rethinks his statement. "So anyway, let me tell you a slightly less depressing fairy tale. Once upon a time, there was this little girl who wore a red hood…"

Teyla settles back against Ronon, listening to Rodney talk, and thinks another three hours of this, here, with these people, will be far from a hardship.

*


End file.
